Ancient Mythical Digital Monster

Each sunset means nothing more to me than perhaps what the ticking of each second a clock is to you. I have protected the rulers of the ancients, gazed upon their lives spent toiling, danced in the sands of their wars and laughed at their wisdom. I have run with the Mares of Diomedes along the shores of Thrace in the fading sunlight.
I have lived in the company of my vast memories in the centuries that me and my brothers have slept frozen in the pillars of an old master's estate. The world is not so different from the way it was then. In the few times that I surveyed the horizons from rooftops, I see the avarice that ruled the world in days of old now being worshiped.
There could not have been a better time for The Awakening. It is just as it was promised.
My soldiers and I can now walk between the physical and digital realms when we please. The mind of man is now softer and clay-like. You will only accept that which I wish you to believe.
You are but the playthings of the ancients. They are gone and yet the children of their descendants will continue to wager their lives. All for but a glimpse of what lies in my knowledge.
I, Orobas, seek to make your acquaintance.

The Piano

Came across an old weather beaten piano at a friend's living room this evening. The varnish was peeling in several places and the white keys were more yellow than white. Few of the keys played notes as dead as door nails, others souned sinisterly de-tuned or just plain cold. The thing kept staring at me ominously the whole evening.
Stared at me while I laughed with the others. Stared while I ate. Stared when I sat in silence.

Somebody sat at the thing and played an old tune traditionally played at farewells, in the very modest experience of yours truly.
Each note mocked. Laughed. Nauseated. Pointed fingers and stuck its tongue out at me.

Unable to bear this nightmarish theater, I swallowed a lemon sized lump in my throat and rode off into dark roads towards home. The speed, cold wind and bleary eyed vision made it all so surreal.

Rode through a dream and woke up into another one.

Urbanely Mundane

Had a good time this weekend. Had a similar occasion the weekend before that. And the one before that. So this is all very agreeable and I should have not too much cause to complain. But I have a sneaking suspicion that these good times are being sold to me.

You buy time to sit at some trash-chic coffee table at cafes. You pay to be spotted smashed at some funny name club. Heck, you even pay to get your hair fondled and snipped by some north-eastern babe who will go to great lengths to assure you that those blond hair extensions are just what you need to complement your overgrown nose-hair.
Folks go through all of the above for a lot of reasons. Some do it to for the chicks, some do it to simply to raise eyebrows and some because they have the money and dont know what else to do with it.

So they put you beside a pool you cant swim in with a cold bitter drink in your hand with a couple of hundred people dressed up exactly like you and hope you bump and grind and drink the night away till around eleven thirty pm when they shoo you out the back door into the longing arms of the law that will milk you of whatever little dough you have left from your good time because they just caught you with a little stinkbreath.
Nice place to reminisce of that last Cosmopolitan you downed is when you're talking to an unfamiliar toilet bowl.

No, this weekend was a special one (Rbass' surprise party at Konda's digs with all of that jet setting crowd in one place was deadly and so was Shivajinagar-ing with 10,000 other people for lassi and midnight phal).
Ah, but aren't they all?

Gadgeted Officer

I'm having trouble waking up again. It's especially hard when you also have trouble sleeping in the first place. There's all sorts of folks in my life at the moment who seem to have no other purpose other than disorienting the hell out of me. Several well wishing viscid criminals entice me from all around me by offering a bit of some good thing, wagering on whether I will act like the proverbial donkey at some point.
But I guess I should be glad that there's at least some activity in my otherwise placid life.

There's this documentary I found interesting that's coming out sometime this month. Jack White, The Edge and the legendary Zoso sit around, jam a bit, swap tunes and talk a bit.
A faceless wise voice on YouTube suggested that it be called "Jimmy gives guitar lessons to a couple of chumps".

Am I twitaddict?
I'm not too sure.
But I just linked the above 'documentary' to a shortened URL from bit.ly
Just to see if that works.

Baby snakes

Hello. Been in absentia for a nice long time.
Lots happened.
I'm trying to make this sound like an entry in a moldy orange diary, but we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?

Anyways, someone I absolutely loathe from the seat of my pants is back in close proximity.
I thought I was finally getting mellow and keeping my intolerance in check and along comes this most vexing character.
I felt pins jabbing at my skull real horrorshow, O my brothers.

I don't understand why I hate the way I do.
I don't like how I cling on to antipathy like I know nothing else.
Help!

Thanks for listening.
May you be covered in moondust.

Only when the last tree is cut

Today I woke up at 5 30 in the morning. Today is a Sunday. An aunt needed to be picked up from the railway station.
Anyway, so I got there on time (well, a tad early actually) and saw people in a long winding queue maybe about 200 meters at the least. These folks were of the push and shove to get something done variety and I found it impossible to find a way around them to get to the platform. When I tried cutting through the line, everybody seemed to hug each other to form some sort of a human wall. I tried to explain that I just needed to get to the other side and they simply ignored me the way I ignore child-contortionists at traffic lights.

Last night, a friend and I were at Fanoos.
He saw an old beggar woman sitting on the pavement and felt something profound.
He told another beggar woman that the old woman was like his mother and that he felt really bad seeing her that way. He asked her to look after her for him.
I thought he empathized for a moment.

Happiness Bang Bang Shoot Shoot

There's this close knit community of bloggers who live among us. They reside in Chennai, Mumbai, Hyderabad, Bangalore and so on and so forth. But suddenly they decide to ditch the username and actually meet in the flesh. And its quite scary because distances suddenly dont matter and they all land up under the same roof in an acceptable watering hole and partake of the harvest in true communal fashion, so to speak.
Indiblogger's top reps, users and fans were present at Stones, Indiranagar, to get into Iron Maiden mode for tomorrow. Free beer was freely flowing, ensuring that the good times kept rolling.
Now, if you're a blogger and you think that you dont live in the dark ages, you're probably signed up with Indiblogger.

Other than that, I'm listening to the Beatles (The White Album) and feeding the fish on time.
Happy Valkilmers... and look alive.